


Fate Will Find A Way

by OnceUponADestiel (Jems_of_Grace)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Chance Meetings, Destiel - Freeform, Fate, Fire Fighter!Dean, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, alternative universe, dean/cas - Freeform, human!Cas, writer!Cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 22:59:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3787522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jems_of_Grace/pseuds/OnceUponADestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel keep meeting each other randomly. After their first meeting, as though by chance, they keep finding each other turn up in the most unexpected of places and it begins to feel as though something is determinedly driving their lives together. Could it be fate?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chance Meetings

First Meeting

_The Subway_

 

Dean got on the subway exhausted from his long shift at the fire department. He was desperate for the twenty minute sit down he would get before he had to walk the three blocks to his apartment. The only trouble was, the entire carriage was packed. He groaned it annoyance. For once, he didn't want to play the part of the gentleman - he just really needed to close his eyes.

There was one seat, he was surprised to see, which, for whatever reason, the rest of the commuters had chosen to ignore. He supposed it must have something to do with the man sat in the window seat. His face was pressed up against the glass, his eyes closed, dark lashes curling over heavy shadows. His mouth was slightly open, the beginnings of drool beginning to collect in one corner, his jaw dark with stubble. His dark hair was all over the place like he'd been stood out in a brisk wind and Dean noticed to his amusement, a pen, tucked behind one ear.

Dean didn't care anymore. Poor guy looked utterly whacked and Dean knew exactly how he felt. There was no way he was going to disturb just because someone sat next to him.

Dean leaned back in the chair, feeling like he was curling up over fabric covered cardboard. But it was still a seat, so he closed his eyes and let himself drift. He barely even noticed the gradual warmth that began to hover over his left side and even if he had, in his semi-conscious state, he would have welcomed it.

Dean thought longingly of his comfy bed back home; how he couldn't wait to relax back into the comforting embrace of memory foam, warm under his thick duvet, the subtle scent of cinnamon and watermelon drifting over from the pillow...

Wait- what?

Dean didn't have scented pillows. He opened his eyes wide and took a minute to get his bearings, remembering that he was still on the commute and not yet within the confines of his apartment.

The weighty warmth by his side stirred slightly and Dean looked sideways without moving his head. The random guy he had sat next to had drifted towards him, apparently as keen to seek out warmth as Dean had been, drawn to him like a friggin' moth to a flame... so, that's where that scent was coming from...

Dean realized he should probably move, or at least, nudge the guy away - make some kind of concerted effort to regain his personal space - I mean, it would be kind of weird not to, right?

But it was warm and comfy and the guy was kinda hot and if Dean pretended to be asleep then he wasn't actually doing any harm was he? To be completely fair, it was the stranger who had drifted towards him, not the other way around. The stranger snuggled his face into Dean's shoulder and then went still again, lips slightly parted. Dean couldn't help smiling down at him, it was actually kinda cute.

He closed his eyes again and told himself to enjoy it while it lasted which wouldn't be for much longer because his stop was coming up. And suddenly the thought of his empty bed back home didn't seem so appealing or even so warm...

Ten minutes later, the sub began to slow and Dean began to shuffle himself away from the other man, desperately trying not to disturb him and save them both some embarrassment. But then his dark eyelids fluttered, revealing a blue so startling in color they put sapphires to shame (and really, Dean thought, I should be arrested for thinking something so criminally cheesy). He opened his eyes wide and sat bolt upright, starring at Dean, an expression of utmost horror on his face. It was almost comical.

'Sorry,' he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck as he stood up in the aisle. He could feel the warmth of mortification begin to drift over his face. 'Um, it's just - it's my stop-'

'I was asleep on you-?!' Dean wasn't expecting the deep, almost haunting rough, baritone of his voice and he couldn't help but stare for a second.

'Um, yeah...' the sub shuddered to a stop. 'Sorry for disturbing you. I gotta go-' he jerked his thumb in the direction of the doors which were beginning to rattle open. The stranger nodded and Dean had to force his eyes away from him, pushing his way through the gaggle of sweaty strangers before escaping onto the platform in a rush of cold polluted air.

Dean made his way home. And if later that night he found himself thinking about wide blue eyes and unnervingly deep voices as he rolled under the quilt, well... it was nobodies business but his own.

After all, it wasn't like he was ever going to see him again...

 

 

 

Second Meeting

_The Park_

 

Castiel had been mortified by the events on the subway. He realized afterwards that he should probably have apologized himself and wondered vaguely exactly why the stranger had been saying sorry to him... he got over the embarrassment reasonably quickly figuring that he'd be unlikely to ever see the other man again - he didn't even ordinarily take the subway and had only done so on that occasion out of sheer exhaustion. In such a large over populated city the chances of running into the same stranger twice were pretty minimal and even if he did, he doubted the stranger would recognize him. So he went home and by morning he had already half-forgotten the awkward events of the previous evening.

That morning he followed his usual routine. It was a Saturday which meant he could afford himself a sleepy lie in. He made breakfast and then took his cat, Grace, out for a morning walk. Castiel loved his cat. She was a gorgeously fluffy white ragdoll with a bushy grey tail and grey tipped ears and big bright eyes the color of forget-me-nots. She was more than a pet, she was his friend - his confidante and he talked to her about everything; how badly his work was going, the reasoning behind his previous failed relationships. Even the embarrassing events on the late night subway. And she would look up at him, cock her head to one side and mew and Castiel would feel himself smile, oddly comforted by her presence. He would never fool himself into thinking she was enough but she was someone and sometimes that was all that mattered.

Grace, being the expensively sought after pedigree that she was, didn't have the freedoms usually granted to most of her kind and had long grown accustomed to having a lead attached to her collar several times a week before Castiel took her for a walk around the nearest park, ignoring the curious glances from strangers who seemed to think he was crazy.

It was a nice day, early spring. The sky was clear but a cool breeze buffeted over the grass as Grace sniffed over a patch she seemed to find particularly interesting. Castiel was just thinking how quiet and peaceful the park was today when seemingly out of nowhere a large husky puppy bounded towards them, yapping enthusiastically, his tail wagging a steady beat against the path. Grace hissed at the happily panting dog, curling around the back of Castiel's legs. He stepped backwards and tripped over the lead, falling to the floor in a tangled heap.

'Sorry,' said a familiar voice from overhead. 'Lead came off - don't think I put it on right...' Castiel gratefully took a hold of the proffered hand and the owner grasped his firmly, pulling him to his feet.

'Thank you,' he said, looking at the stranger for the first time.

It was the green eyed man from the subway.

They starred at one another for a second and any hope Castiel had that the other man would fail to recognize him, were quickly dashed when he said; 'Oh. It's you...' The man's moss green eyes widened with obvious embarrassment and he swiftly averted his eyes as a pink blush began to creep over his cheeks. He stooped over the husky, trying desperately to secure the lead but the puppy seemed to think this was some kind of game and began leaping and jumping about. Grace jumped up into Castiel's arms. He felt frozen to the spot, starring at the other man as he struggled.

'Here, let me,' he said eventually, realizing that he wasn't going to succeed any time soon. He placed Grace back on the ground, taking the lead from the other man before easily slotting the hook into place on the dog's collar. 'There,' he handed the lead back over.

'Well, you just make it look easy,' he said with a slightly self-deprecating laugh. 'She's not my dog,' he explained. 'My brother's away and he asked me to look after her for a couple of days but I'm not great with animals... She didn't frighten your cat too bad did she?'

'No. I think she's got over the shock. She's used to seeing dogs in the park.' Grace was now curling her tail affectionately around the stranger's leg, clearly vying for attention. The husky watched her curiously, mouth open, long pink tongue hanging out. The man reached out a hesitant hand and patted her gently on the head. 'She doesn't bite,' he picked her up, holding her out to the other man. 'Look, like this-' he grabbed the stranger by the arm and moulded his hand over the cat's head, stroking gently. Grace lapped it up like she was touch starved or something, purring loud and rubbing her head up into his hand.

'Huh, look at that!' the man seemed delighted. Castiel realized he was still holding his hand and let go abruptly.

'Um, sorry I fell asleep on you on the sub last night.' Castiel felt a sudden need to address the elephant but he could feel his ears heating up.

'Nah, don't worry about it,' the man waved him off. 'First time for everything, I guess...'

'Yes, I suppose...'

'Well, gotta go-' the man gestured vaguely behind him and Castiel nodded again, walking off in the opposite direction. He looked back after a few steps - his retreating sandy brown head just visible at the end of the path before he rounded the corner. He didn't know why but he felt a vague sense of disappointment. He didn't know what he might have expected in such an odd situation but he couldn't help but think it had all been a bit anticlimactic. He felt an odd unexplainable pull towards the stranger and now he was out of sight he had the urge to run after him. But why? And what would he even say?

So he walked away and tried to put the unsettling feeling out of his head, figuring - reasonably enough - that the chances of running into him again must now be less than zero.

 

 

 

Third Meeting

_The Coffee Shop_

 

Castiel walked into his usual coffee shop feeling somewhat miserable. It had been another long day at the desk with almost nothing to show for it excepting an internet history of procrastination. He had arranged to meet his friend Balthazar here so they could walk to the publishing house together. They both had to attend a meeting there in less than an hour. He ordered his regular black coffee before taking one of the comfy armchair seats by the window. He sipped his coffee as slowly as possible whilst he waited, making the occasional mark in his open lined pad as he halfheartedly proof read his handwritten notes. Five minutes later, Balthazar walked in grabbing some crazy sugary concoction from the counter before taking the seat by Castiel's left side.

'Cassie!' he said with a grin and without further delay launched into a dialogue about his latest female 'conquest' as he put it. Castiel thought this one might have been called Meg - it was hard to keep up with Balhazar's long string of partners sometimes - and he doubted Balthazar had much more idea than he did. He nodded along, trying to look interested but he was caught up in his own troubles... and then the door to his right swung open letting in a sudden cold draft of air and a familiar profile caught his eye.

He hadn't actually seen the man's face so he couldn't be certain but he watched his retreating back with interest as he joined the queue. The back of his sandy head bobbed along as he moved forward in the line and Castiel found himself leaning slightly to one side as he strained to keep him in his sight line. It's probably not him, he thought dubiously. He'd been thinking about the stranger a lot since that second meeting in the park - more than was probably healthy considering the chances of them ever meeting again - and now here he was imagining that he was seeing him everywhere... He was nearing the front of the queue when he heard Balthazar saying: 'Cassie, are you listening?'

'What? Oh, sorry Balthazar,' he turned reluctantly back to his friend. 'I was just thinking-' and he started saying something vague about how badly his writing was going. 'Since the second book's been published, ideas for the third one have pretty much dried up...' Balthazar nodded his head sympathetically and started throwing random ideas at him, probably in an attempt to inspire his friend but Castiel's imagination didn't really work like that and he was tired of thinking about his work. He tried to listen politely, occasionally murmuring an appropriate response but then he let his eyes wonder again and he found himself starring at the top of a sandy head sat at a table at the back of the coffee shop. He still couldn't see the man's face as he was bent over his coffee mug and there was another taller man sat at the table with him, slightly blocking the view. Castiel carried on watching as he drank his coffee, letting the sound of Balthazar's voice drift into the background. Luckily his friend was used to him day dreaming like this.

Suddenly the man looked up at his companion, laughing at something the other man had said and Castiel felt his jaw drop.

It was him.

He had a wonderful warm laugh that echoed around the room, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he chuckled and Castiel found himself smiling unconsciously as he watched him.

'Hello! Earth to Castiel!'

And he was forced to remove his eyes from the beautiful man and look back at his friend who seemed utterly exasperated.

'What is with you today?'

'I don't know...' he said eyes returning to the man at the back of the coffee shop. 'I'm just a little tired, I guess...' At that moment the man looked away from his companion, his eyes sweeping the room absentmindedly before settling on Castiel's face. He blinked slowly, obviously surprised but there was no doubting that he recognized him because in the next moment he was smiling, a silent 'hello' from across the room and it was like seeing the sun peeking out behind all the clouds that were the other faces in the coffee shop. Castiel smiled back before, once again, Balthazar jerked him back into that other reality.

'Fuck! We've really got to get going!' he said starring down at the time on his phone. 'The meeting starts in less than ten minutes!'

'Balthazar!' Castiel hissed irritably, although he really had no right to blame his friend - he'd almost entirely forgotten about the meeting he'd been so distracted. He started gathering his things together hurriedly. He chanced another glance up at the man on the other side of the room - this could actually be their final chance encounter - but he was now engaged in full conversation with his friend and Castiel really had to go - the publishing office was a good ten minute walk from here!

The two men rushed out of the door at full speed and seconds later when Dean looked up again (intending once more to smile at the now familiar stranger) he was already gone.

 


	2. Electromagnetism

Fourth Meeting

_The Book Signing_

 

A week or so went by and Dean had been struggling to get those damned blue eyes out of his head (and he didn't mean the ones belonging to the cat). It was crazy - he was a complete stranger! And after three encounters (two of which had been somewhat embarrassing), the likeliness of a fourth had to be less than zero. 

Not that he wanted a fourth  _embarrassing_  encounter. No. If they met by chance again he would have to remain calm and collected and not do or say anything stupid - all in all;  _play it cool._

It was round about the time that he was thinking that, that the building's fire alarm went off again - that was the  _third_  time this week! Some idiot on the top floor kept smoking up his apartment meaning that the entirety of the building had to evacuate into the courtyard until the false alarm was called off. It was getting seriously annoying! Dean had half a mind to have a word with whoever it was...

Dean made his way down the stairs midst an irritable stampede of neighbors that he mostly knew by sight although there was the odd new face mixed in - there were always people coming and going - no one seemed to stay in the area for very long. Except for Dean of course...

He reached the courtyard and jostled among the crowd, searching for at least one familiar face. The building's manager, Chuck, came out and announced that it was another false alarm and that everyone was free to return to their homes. A collective groan echoed around the courtyard. Honestly, you'd think they'd have been happier to hear about an  _actual_  fire. One guy Dean only knew as Crowley, yelled something obscene and then 'When's that bloody moron upstairs going to stop wasting my fucking time?' But Chuck had already escaped the hustle and bustle of complaints, leaving Crowley to stomp off to his basement apartment.  

Dean began walking irritably back up the stairs. He caught sight of a familiar tattoo just ahead of him. 'Hey, Pamela - how's it going?'

'Great,' she said turning around with a smirk and waiting for him to catch up. 'You been eyeing up my behind again?' 

'You betcha,' he admitted with a smirk of his own. 

'Haven't seen you around much.'

'Yeah, well... work - y'know. Oh and I had a visitor for a couple of days.' Pamela wriggled her eyebrows suggestively. 'Nah, nothing like that. My brother's dog,' he said by way of an explanation. 'Kept me pretty busy.'

Pamela chuckled. 'For a second there I thought you was holding out on me,' her eyes brightened hopefully but Dean wasn't willing to take the bait - Pamela was a stickler for gossip on his almost nonexistent romantic life. He cast about for a change of subject. 

'You believe it about this fire alarm thing again!'

'I know, right! I hear it's one of those guys on the top floor. You ever met him?'

'No.'

'Castiel something-' It was the weirdest thing but the second Pamela said that name he got an odd sort of chill running through him like it meant something to him.

' _Castiel._  What kind of name's that?' Pamela shrugged unconcerned but Dean couldn't shake the feeling that he'd heard it somewhere before. It seemed simultaneously strange and oddly familiar.

'Hey, maybe you should have a word with him - give him the whole fire drill talk!'

'Yeah, maybe.' Dean agreed somewhat unenthusiastically - he had enough of that at work. 'Well, see you later, Pamela,' he said as they reached his door. Pamela carried on walking as he got out his keys.

'See ya, Dean.' 

As he walked in he heard his phone ringing - it was Sam.

'Hey, I was just calling about the book signing tomorrow.'

'What?'

'The  _book signing._ You forgot didn't you!'

'No!' Dean said defensively. There was a pause on the other end of the phone and Dean knew full well his brother could see right through the lie. 'Well, okay. Yeah I did. But I'm just tired is all...'

'Right.'

'Dunno why you even want me to go with you.' Dean complained grumpily.

'I already told you - I don't want to go on my own. Jess is out of town and I don't know anyone else who's read the book-'

' _I_ haven't read the book!' Dean exclaimed exasperatingly.

'I know, I know. But you're my brother so you can't just say no, right?'

'Yeah, yeah - I get it. You need someone to hold your hand and-'

'Ha, ha.' Sam interrupted sounding unamused and probably sporting one of his fabulous bitch faces on the other end of the line. Dean grinned.

'Okay, okay... whatever. I'll come-' Sam told him what time to meet him outside the bookshop and then hung up. Dean rolled his eyes,

The following day, Dean met Sam as previously arranged. There seemed to be a lot of people in the bookshop and a sign out front declared that the author  _C.A. Lord_  would be signing copies of his best selling fantasy novel:  _Dark Wings_  at 11:30. 

Sam looked excited in a way that made Dean roll his eyes again and mutter 'Dork,' under his breath. He had even dressed for the occasion, departing with his usual plaid in favor of a 'smart/casual', shirt and tie combo. Dean, on the other hand, hadn't seen this as the right time for playing dress up - he hadn't even shaved - opting for the more 'scruffy but not homeless' style. He thought Sam had over done it until they stepped into the shop and he realized pretty much every one there had gone along the same lines. Suddenly Dean felt under dressed. Dean snorted quietly to himself after he'd counted ten ties because  _seriously_  ? For a  _book signing!_ Who even were all these nerds?

There was a desk at the back of the shop at which a dark haired man was sat, head bent over the book he was signing. A small crowd of people were gathered around him making Sam complain that he couldn't see. Sam joined the long queue that was forming directly in front of the author whilst Dean picked up a copy of the book before standing in line behind his brother. Sam was clutching his own well thumbed copy and muttering under his breath with a kind of nervous excitement, 'I wonder what he'll be like?' Dean started reading the blurb, a bit embarrassed that he was probably the only person in the store who didn't know what the book was about. It sounded like it might actually be a good story; he was surprised by his brother's taste. The queue began moving slowly forwards but Sam and Dean couldn't see the author at all from where they were stood. There was a steady trail of people ahead of them, all of whom seemed more eager to have a heart-to-heart with the man than they were to get his autograph. Dean was surprised how affected some of his fans seemed to be as they walked away, at least three wiping away tears, every one of them grinning like they'd just won the lottery - who even  _was_  this guy? They seemed to idolize him. His book couldn't be  _that_  good! 

Dean felt with a haughty sense of disdain that  _he_  wouldn't become such a gibbering mess, even if he was confronted with one of his lifelong heroes. And this guy couldn't have been around that long - Dean had never even heard of him!

They were getting closer to the front, Sam practically bouncing off the balls of his feet, Dean, easily the calmest human in the building. Dean quickly began reading the opening paragraphs. 'Dean, c'mon.' Sam said, urging him forward as the people in front of them moved away. Dean didn't look up, he could hear his brother talking over him but he was lost in the words he was reading and didn't fully register what he was saying, or even, who he was talking to. It clicked home when he said, 'Could you sign it to Sam-' Dean looked up blinking, about to apologize but his eyes were caught by a very familiar pair of blue eyes that were staring intently at him and instead he just wound up gaping open mouthed. Sam was still talking, 'This is my brother. He's a big fan of yours, as you can see-' Sam stood on Dean's foot. 

Dean blinked. 'Hey,' he said softly.

'Hello again,' said the man from the subway (and the park and the coffee shop...). C.A. Lord seemed as surprised to see Dean as Dean was to see him. 

'Um... I didn't know you wrote this book...' he said by way of an explanation - he didn't want the guy thinking he was some kind of freaky stalker fan. The man stared at Dean and then glanced with some amusement at Sam. 'Not a big fan, then,' he said with a knowing grin.

'Um, not exactly. No... I haven't even read it...' Dean realized he was digging himself a deeper hole. 'But I will do. Now...'  _Fuck, that sounded worse didn't it!_

Sam was starring curiously between his brother and the author. Dean could feel his face reddening. 'Sammy though - he loves your book,' he said clapping his brother on the back. Someone stood behind them in the queue cleared their throat loudly and Dean jerked an irritable glance at him.

C.A. Lord looked like he was about to say something when a woman stood behind him with the name tag Rachel interrupted impatiently, 'You need to move along now - you're holding up the queue!' A black man with a wire was stood next to her, looking like he might be the author's body guard. He glowered down at Dean warningly, just daring him to object. The author frowned up at them but Sam was already grabbing Dean by the arm and pulling him away.

They walked through the crowd of fans until they were stood outside the bookshop. Dean felt dazed. When he felt the cool wind hit his face he looked back into the shop wanting to run back in, jump the queue and talk to him again... but what was he supposed to say? That he felt drawn to him, that it was starting to feel like someone or something was pushing their lives in line with each other, that it was inevitable? He would sound crazy, especially surrounded by his freaky fan club! His body guard would probably throw him from the building as soon as he opened his mouth. He hadn't even read his damn book! It wasn't exactly the cool impression that Dean had been hoping to leave if they should meet again...

That's when Dean realized that he hadn't even got his copy of the book signed. The crowd inside the store was getting larger. Dean turned back to his brother who was staring at him.

'What was all that about?'

 

 

 

Fifth Meeting

_The Fire_

 

Dean was speaking to his landlord the next time the fire alarm went off. Chuck was just giving his bogus reason as to exactly why his rent was going up (something vague about administration fees) as Dean rolled his eyes irritably when the alarm on the wall besides Chuck's apartment door started blaring. 

'For fucks sake-!' he snapped, peering around Dean to stare at the door behind him. Dean turned around just as the door swung open letting out a billow of thick grey smoke and a foul burning stench.

'This the same guy who's always setting it off?'

'Yup. Try living on the same floor as him! Bloody nightmare, I can tell you! And then that moron Crowley from downstairs, having a go at  _me_  about it! I mean, what am _I_  supposed to do?'  

'Right. Um, maybe I could have a word-'

'Be my guest - I've had it up to here with him! I'd kick him out if he didn't pay so much rent...' Chuck stormed past him, heading for the stairs. Other doors along the corridor were opening up and the grumpy murmurs of exasperated neighbors began to make their way down to the courtyard again. 

Dean ignored them. Smoke was still pouring out of the open door as he approached it cautiously. 'Hello?' There was no answer but he could hear someone muttering from somewhere beyond his sights. 'No, no, no, no, no, no, no! Stupid fucking assbutts!' Dean's eyes widened and he couldn't help grinning - he was very familiar with the use of colorful language himself but this was a new one on him. 'STOP _already!_ 'Dean decided to throw caution to the wind and stepped into the room. 

'Hey, are you okay in there?' he could see someone moving about the kitchen, the sound of water splashing.

'Fucking fantastic!' a familiarly gruff voice called back, sarcastically. Dean frowned - it couldn't be  _him_. The guy's voice probably just sounded like that after inhaling so much smoke. 'My kitchen's kind of on fire, you see!' Dean rushed into the kitchen at his words. He starred from the flaming pan over the stove, the wide open oven door from which all the smoke was coming and the half melted plastic bowl on the counter top. There was water all over the floor as well as soot and a drenched pair of oven gloves. Dean looked around at the rooms other occupant. His clothes were covered in soot, a bowl of water in one hand, a steaming black rag in the other. There was a black smear across his face but there was no mistaking him - it was the author, C.A. Lord.

He stared at Dean, clearly in shock. 'You,' he said but Dean didn't have time to blush this time. He was as surprised as the other guy but his fire training was kicking into action. He picked up the sodden oven gloves, grabbed the pan lid from the side and placed it carefully over the top of the flaming pan, the lack of oxygen effectively cutting off the fire. Next Dean made sure all the dials on the oven were turned off. He glanced at the other man as he headed to the windows which were closed. His mouth was hanging open slightly. Dean lifted the catch and threw the windows as far open as they would go before turning back around.

'So you're the one who's been causing all the alarm trouble,' Dean said with a smirk. The man frowned.

'Um, yes. I guess I am. Why are you in my apartment?'

Dean realized that he probably looked like a crazy stalker again. 'I was speaking to Chuck when the alarm went off and I'm a fire fighter so, y'know...' he trailed off lamely.

'You are?' the man was still frowning.

'Yeah, um... I live downstairs,' he added in case that wasn't clear. Apparently this was sufficient enough an explanation because his face relaxed. 'Thank you for helping me.'

'No problem.'

'I can't cook.'

'You don't say.'

'Every time I try, I set something on fire. You would probably consider me quite hazardous actually, considering your profession.'

'No, seriously. Even if I wasn't a fire fighter, I'd still think you were pretty hazardous.' FUCK! Did he really just say that? The man blushed. 'I mean in a causing fire sense, obviously. I'm sure you're perfectly safe in every other way.' _Dean, stop talking. NOW!_

'Um... I'm sorry for your inconvenience.'

'Nah, don't worry about it.' He looked around the kitchen. 'You need some help clearing up or-'

'No, no. It's fine. I can manage... I'm used to it.'

'Yeah, I guess you are. Maybe you should get someone to give you some cooking lessons if you're really that bad.' The man stared at him unblinkingly.

'You offering?'

Dean felt the heat rising in his cheeks. 'Maybe,' those piercing blue eyes were unnerving him and he found himself looking down at his feet self-consciously. 'What were you trying to make anyway?' 

'Soup.'

'Soup?'

'Yes. That's what I said. Soup,' the man's ears were burning, his eyes flashing testily as Dean did his best not to crack up.

'Wow.'

'Yes.'

They stared at each other for a few more seconds.

'Don't you think this is getting a little strange?'

'What?' but Dean knew exactly what he meant.

'Well - you had no idea that I lived here-?'

'No!' 

'This is what, five times?'

'Yes.'

'Who  _are_  you?'

Dean felt a little thrown by the question but only because it felt like he should already know. But how could he, they'd never actually introduced themselves. 'My name's Dean. Dean Winchester.'

'Hello, Dean,' and even though he hadn't asked, he continued. 'My name is Castiel.'

'Right. Castiel.' Dean stared at him. Castiel stared back. It felt like there was some kind of electricity in the air between them, a kind of static crackle and even though he knew it sounded cheesy, Dean felt like if they got too close, something might actually spark up. 

There had been enough fire for one day. 

'I should probably go. Let you get cleared up,' he said finding himself unwilling to turn away. 

'Right. Thanks again,' Castiel looked a little sad, a little put out but that probably had more to do with the state of his kitchen than anything else.

'No problem. Any time.' Dean said automatically, spinning on his heel and making a dash out of the door. The alarm had been called off. Dean ran down the steps, two at a time and finally shut himself away behind his own front door, heart thundering like he'd just run a marathon. He closed his eyes, resting his face up against the wood grain, willing himself to calm down.

It wasn't like he hadn't been attracted to guys before - that had happened  _plenty_  of times. He'd even been with a few. But there was something different about Castiel. Something almost painfully obvious.

It was starting to feel like something was pushing them together, a kind of invisible force bringing their lives into contact over and over again and Dean was beginning to get the impression that it was unavoidable. They were drawn together like magnets of opposite polarities and it felt electric! 


	3. Meant To Be

Sixth Meeting

_What is Meant to Be..._

 

A couple of weeks passed in which Dean didn't see Castiel even once. Not that he hadn't tried, even taking the odd detour through the park and another complainatory visit to his landlord but it seemed like trying to tempt fate in this fashion wouldn't work. It rained at the park - there was hardly anyone around, least of all a dude with a cat. During his trip to Chuck Dean glanced over his shoulder an inordinate amount of times, probably making the guy think he had a twitch or something. But the door behind him remained solidly closed.

Dean tried to stay positive, he read the book  _Dark Wings_  and then tried to put thoughts of the writer out of his head as best he could... but it wasn't easy... the book had been nothing short of brilliant. An addictive read concerning angels and demons but paralleling normal life. Castiel managed to give a fantastic depth to a subject that in anyone else's hands, Dean might have found grueling.

It seemed like every time he had a minute to himself, he'd drift off into a day dream and Cas would stride into his head and settle down like he owned the place. It was especially difficult late at night when he'd roll about in his lonely bed and thoughts of messy black hair, chapped pink lips and blazing blue eyes, clamored for attention. His deep throaty voice speaking lines from his book and sending Dean wild with frustration...

So he was pretty shocked when he came home one night, after a twenty-four hour shift at the fire station, to find Castiel passed out besides his front door.

 

-

 

_Twelve hours earlier._  

 

Castiel was having a really bad day.

It didn't exactly help that thoughts of one particular Dean Winchester kept intruding on his subconsciousness.

He'd spent most of the night awake, feverishly writing out a first draft to a new novel which he promptly scrapped, screwing the paper into a ball and throwing it unsuccessfully at the waste paper basket in the corner of his room. The trouble was, both his agent and his publisher were putting pressure on him to release new material. But try as he might, he couldn't get the story to work and by three thirty in the morning, he was just about tearing his hair out in frustration. 

It was like his imagination had dried up.

The following morning he'd woken later than usual, stumbling around his apartment like a zombie until he got a phone call from Balthazar. 'How long are you going to be?'

'What?'

'The meeting? How long before you get here?' he was speaking in hushed tones like he was afraid of being overheard. Meanwhile Castiel had frozen on the spot, hand half way into the fridge. 'Everyone else is already here!'

'Fuck!' he'd completely forgotten.

Castiel went from zombie to whirlwind in under three seconds flat. Disregarding breakfast he'd simply dropped his phone on the kitchen floor and sped like a canon ball to his bedroom and his wardrobe, pulling his shirt on back to front in his haste to get ready.

No one exactly looked happy with him when he'd rolled into the meeting room twenty minutes late and looking like he didn't know how to dress himself. 

His day went from bad to worse from that moment on.

He'd gone for breakfast but the coffee shops card machines were down and when he went to get cash from the ATM opposite, it had chewed his card, spitting out a tangled mess of frazzled plastic but no cash. This had led to a trip to the bank were he'd gone into a glaze - daydreaming about green eyes - in the forty minute queue. By the time he got back to the coffee shop he was starving and already irritable. That was before the bloke behind the counter messed up his order, handing over some sweet sugary concoction that made Cas's eyes water at first sip, causing him to splutter brown liquid half-way across the table. It felt like most of the coffee shop customers had glanced up from their cappuccinos, starring at him with identical expressions of disgust. 

Next he decided to go check on his forever stationary, utterly useless car that he couldn't afford to get fixed. On his way there, he tripped over a stray shoe in a ridiculously dramatic fashion causing some teenagers hanging around the Seven Eleven opposite to snigger loudly. And some passing by moron called out 'Don't forget to send a postcard!' Cas could feel his face reddening in mortification. When he eventually reached his car where it was parked in the lot outside his building, he just starred. He wasn't even shocked anymore, the way his day was going. Apparently someone had thought it was appropriate to throw a twelve pack of eggs at it. Goopy mess, yellow yolks and cracked shells decorated its entire exterior and the words _PIMP MOBILE_  had been scratched out jaggedly along the offside.  

The icing on the cake was when he got home to find that Grace had torn a long scratch into his new couch.

He shot her a look of betrayal and she looked up at him with her big eyes and a little  _Mew_ as though to say _What?_  After ensuring that she had plenty of food and water, he left his apartment, heading for the nearest dive bar. He asked for a shot of something strong and was handed a small glass of golden brown liquid. 'I hope you can handle your liquor!' the bar girl said with a grin, flicking her long blonde ponytail and watching Castiel's expression as he swallowed it down in one. It left a burning sensation on its journey down his throat. He asked for another and then followed it up with three more. He fully intended on drinking himself silly and then calling his brother to help him home. It was about time that Gabriel returned the long overdue (and overpaid) favor. If Castiel had a shot for every time he'd helped Gabriel out after partying a little too hard, he'd already be hammered.  

Somewhere along the third glass the room began to spin and he found himself sneezing. He laughed at the absurdity of it. Fucking typical. He never drinks.  _Never_. And the one time he does, he simultaneously comes down with a cold!

Castiel definitely couldn't handle his liquor.

He asked for another shot.

'You sure you can handle that, buddy?' the bartender asked with a smirk.

'Yes,' he croaked out determinedly and as though attempting to prove himself, downed it in one. 

A few hours later, Castiel was slouched down over a table, surrounded by shot glasses. He had realized he had reached a thoroughly intoxicated level some time ago but had carried on drinking in spite of this, still trying to make a point to the bartender. 

The bartender started collecting up the glasses on a tray. 'You 'kay down there?'

'Don't- don't ask stupid questions,' he answered surlily. 'Ev'rythin's spinnin'.'

'Yup, that can happen. Hey, maybe you should give it a rest for the night? It's only what, 8pm and you already look smashed. I'm honestly not sure you'll be able to stand!'

Castiel figured the bar girl might have a point so he reached bleary eyed into his pocket, fumbling for his phone. It was the first time he'd wanted it since that morning. He found himself chuckling in a self-deprecating manner as he felt the flat emptiness, pulling out nothing more than a couple of receipts as the realization hit him that he had dropped it on the kitchen floor earlier that morning and failed to pick it up when he'd gone home. So much for calling Gabriel.

He dragged himself to his feet, feeling quite proud when he was standing vertical. And then he was swaying on the spot. He began edging around the table just as some of the bars rowdier regulars started to make an appearance, striding through the door like they owned the place and hollering, 'Hey Jo, hand over some beers would ya!' at which point the bar girl flipped them her middle finger from the other side of the room.

Castiel was relieved to make it out onto the side walk, feeling the cool breeze whip over his face and deluding him into thinking he was sobering up. He walked down the street, weaving between invisible obstacles, only too glad that he'd chosen a bar just round the corner from his apartment. 

Castiel traipsed into the foyer of the building, making a direct line for the elevator. Well, pretty direct, he  _was_  wobbling quite a lot. But he knew where he was aiming for at least. 

He stood in front of the sliding doors and pressed the button on the wall. It didn't light up but he continued gawping gormlessly at the narrow gap between the doors, willing them to open. And then after about five minuets, a blurry sign taped up above the switch, gradually came into focus. ' _Out of order._ ' Castiel read out loud, taking a minute before the meaning became clear. He cracked up with high-pitched laughter; 'Figures.'

It was a long way to the top floor. He began to trek slowly up the first flight of stairs, stumbling over every other step and clutching the banister like it was some kind of life-line, which on this occasion, it really was.

He felt warm. Like really,  _really,_  warm. By the time he made it to the top step, sweat was clinging to his forehead. The dizziness was worsening and he wound up crawling up the second flight of stairs, not noticing as his door keys slipped from his trouser pocket and jingled their way back down the steps. Fortunately the corridors were empty and he was spared the embarrassment of being seen like this by any of his neighbors.  

Castiel was feeling really quite ill now and he slowly worked out with his alcohol addled brain that it wasn't just because of the whiskey. He was definitely sick. By the time he crawled over the last step he was feeling feverish. He painstakingly made his way down the next corridor, inching along on all fours. His eyes had set on one particular door. If he could get to that door, he could keep going. But that door was the first step.

_I_   _f he could get to that door, then everything would be okay..._

_Maybe he'd climbed twelve flights of stairs already and just forgotten?_

_Yeah, that was likely._

_Maybe that was_ his _door?_

Either way, when Castiel finally reached the door he flumped back against the frame. He couldn't move anymore, not even if he tried. His eyes closed firmly, mouth dropped open and he collapsed sideways against the wood grain.

Half-an-hour later, Dean came home.

 

-

 

'Castiel?' the man slumped against his door gave no response.

Dean knelt down besides him, immediately smelling a strong waft of alcohol coming off his breath. 'Castiel?' he repeated, a little louder this time. 'Cas, buddy - can you hear me?' Castiel made an odd murmuring noise which could have been a vague attempt at confirmation but it was hard to tell. ''Kay, great... is there someone I can call for you or- maybe I could help you up to your apartment? ' No response this time. Dean patted down his pockets, looking for a phone or some keys or something but there was nothing. 

'Okay... okay, Cas. What we're gonna do is this-' Dean began, thinking on his feet. 'I'm gonna help you stand up and then... then I'm gonna let you kip on my couch... sound good?' He figured at least that way he could keep an eye on him. Make sure he didn't choke on his own vomit.

Castiel said something that sounded a lot like: 'Uh-ghmmm...'

'Great. That's really... great. Glad to know we're on the same page.' Dean rolled his eyes, grasped Castiel under one arm and heaved him to his feet, letting Cas lean all his weight against his shoulder. It was at that point that he realized that he probably should have opened his door first but somehow he managed one handedly; finding how own keys and unlocking his door. He started trying to move the other man forward, pushing him through the entrance but he was like a dead weight and Dean knew from experience that it wasn't even worth the hassle. So with a sigh and a slight grunt, Dean lifted Castiel up and over his shoulder showing a great deal of strength and with all the ease born from being a fire fighter for the past ten years.

He walked into his apartment, careful not to bang Castiel's head as he made a bee line for his sitting room. He lay Castiel out flat on his sunken couch and anyone would have thought that he hadn't been moved at all judging by his non-existent response. In fact, he looked like he had been sleeping there for hours. Seconds later he rolled over onto his side and began to snore loudly.

Dean snorted with amusement, starring down at his neighbor fondly. He couldn't help leaning over and brushing the dark curls away from his eyes, tucking them behind his ears. Dean frowned. It felt like Castiel had a pretty high temperature, something that went well beyond the norm when simply drunk. 'Great. So you're totalled _and_  feverish.' Dean found himself making a trip to the bathroom and running a flannel under cold water. He went back to the sitting room and layered the cool damp cloth over his house guest's forehead.

Then Dean had to resist starring for overly long at long black eyelashes, parched pink lips and that roughened stubbly jaw...

He managed to tear himself away for long enough to find a spare pillow, gently lifting him up, sliding it underneath his neighbor before letting his head flop down again.

The unconscious man muttered something unintelligible before continuing to snore. 

He found a bucket under the sink which he plonked down besides the couch, placing next to it a glass of water and a sealed pack of Tylenol. Then he took his own duvet from his room, piling it over the top of Castiel before standing back to admire his work.

He was still lying on his side which was good because if he was suddenly sick, he shouldn't choke but Dean was still loathe to leave him on his own for more than a few minutes at a time. He could roll back over at any minute...

He starred longingly at his bedroom door for a few seconds, the exhaustion that only came after a long shift at work beginning to settle in around his eyes. Thoughts of a lengthy stretch on that memory foam had been all that had kept him going for the last couple of hours... (The bunks at in the fire station weren't half as comfortable.) Luckily he'd eaten a burger on the route home and after a quick trip to the bathroom he was more than ready to sleep. He settled down into the comfy armchair which lay adjacent to the couch, curling up under a couple of blankets. 'G'night Mr C.A. Lord.' Dean said quietly over the top of his blanket, wondering how his life had come to this - his crush, a brilliant writer, passed out on his couch...

Dean fell into a doze.

 

_

 

The following morning when Castiel finally regained some semblance of consciousness, he was hit smack in the face with a blistering headache.

FUCK!

What the hell?!

It felt like he'd been sleeping with a medicine ball sitting over his skull. He moaned, burying himself deeper under the quilt, far from ready to join the waking world. His mouth felt beyond dry, like he'd been sucking on cotton wool all night and he realized with more than a little irritation, that he was going to have to force himself out of bed to get a glass of water. 

He gradually pulled the quilt away from his face. A damp cloth falling away from his head as he did so. A soft dapple of sunlight fell across his closed eyelids giving the unpleasant sensation of someone taking a burning hot poker to his eyeballs. He groaned again, rolling back onto his side and pressing his face up against blissfully dark, soft cotton. He began to let his eyes flutter open, taking in the worn brown material of the couch and the cream duvet bundled over his head just as he was hit by a wave of nausea. 

It was at this point that Castiel realized that he didn't have a clue where he was or how he had got there. 

He cautiously peeled back the quilt again, peering out over the top like he was trying to remain hidden. He let the sunlight hit his face this time, ignoring the flaring sensation behind his eyes and the steadily throbbing pulse that echoed about his temples. He seemed to be lying on someones couch in an unfamiliar sitting room. Directly in his eye line, he could see an armchair - it appeared that someone was sleeping over there too.

Castiel wracked his sore brains, trying to figure out where he could be and how the hell he'd got there. He remembered going to the bar and drinking a _lot_  of whiskey. He remembers feeling drunk and he remembers that he stupidly carried on drinking in spite of this... Normally in this situation (rare though it was for him to be so inebriated), he would have called his brother, Gabriel. After all, he himself had helped Gabriel out of many,  _many,_  drunken situations over the years... 

But this wasn't Gabriel's house and for some reason he doubted that it was his brother curled up in that armchair. Of course, the easiest thing to do would be to sit up and take a look. And if he didn't recognize him; wake the guy up and  _ask_. Of course that could involve a great deal of embarrassment - goodness knows what he'd said and done when he'd been so thoroughly wasted. 

He tried to sit up a little, to get a good look at the man, propping himself up on one elbow. A handsomely familiar face swam into view; short cut sandy hair, pale freckled complexion and a strong jaw line. His eyes were closed, long eyelashes curling over shadowed lids... His head was resting on his arm which he had stretched out over the arm of the chair. Castiel took in the image, thinking he had never seen anything quite so beautiful... 

A couple of thin blankets were folded over his neighbor's lap and Castiel felt a rush of affection for him, mixed with guilt... He was suddenly very aware of the warm quilt he was snuggled under and the downy pillow beneath his head... 

He looked around the room calculatingly, wondering if it was wise to disturb the sleeping man, or if it would be okay to help himself to a glass of water. That was when his eye caught on the red bucket by the side of the couch, the discarded flannel, the glass of water and the Tylenol - all obviously left out for his use. It was hard not to be affected by such a tender gesture. And he felt an overwhelming rush of warmth and gratitude towards this neighbor whom he barely knew... They were basically strangers but still, he had taken Castiel into his home and cared for him in his time of need. It wasn't something that everybody would do...

He reached down for the glass, popped a couple of pills and then downed the remaining water. Then he buried himself back beneath the quilt, feeling himself drift back off within seconds.

 

_

 

When Castiel woke again, the first thing he noticed was the smell of eggs, mushrooms and fried tomatoes drifting under the duvet. He could hear a clattering sound and sure enough, when he took a peek above the quilt, his neighbor was missing from his armchair post. He sat up just as the tang of slightly burnt toast accompanied the other breakfasty scents in a not all together unpleasant combination. 

Castiel looked around curiously, noting with some relief that his headache had somewhat dissipated, although he could still feel a dull throb beneath his temples.

Dean Winchester's apartment was open plan, much like his own although not so large. Everything was quite plain and simply decorated, cream walls and dark furniture. There weren't really any personal touches that he could see, nothing that gave him any indication of who Dean Winchester was. There weren't even any photographs. 

He could see a figure bent over the stove in the kitchen, his black cotton tee rippling over a muscular back as he moved and a soft keyed humming sound floating from him; a song that Castiel didn't recognize. 

He still felt really warm and his eyes felt kind of fuzzy and he was remembering with some disgust that he had been coming down with a cold the previous evening. His nose was beginning to dribble in a way that Castiel was sure would all too soon grow very tiresome and he wiped it on the back of his hand for lack of any Kleenex. 

A second later, Dean was turning around bearing two large plates of food and he broke into a big grin when he saw Castiel awake and sat up. ' _Hey, Cas!_  What're you doin' here?' he asked in mock surprise. 

Cas felt mortified, burying his face in his hands. 'I'm so sorry!' he said without looking up.

'Hey, s'okay, man. I was only messing with you.'

'I know but I just can't believe I- Fuck! I really am sorry, Dean,' he said, finally peering up at his host. 'I almost never drink and I-'

'It's fine, Cas. Relax.'

_Cas._  There it was again. And Castiel loved the way he said it. 

'So, I made you breakfast if you're up for it.'

'Yeah,' Castiel said, surprised himself. 'Yeah... it smells really _good...'_  Dean through him an amused smirk.

'Better than your own cooking?'

'Ha ha,' Cas said without amusement, taking the plate from Dean with more enthusiasm than he was accustomed to feeling at the sight of food. He wasn't really a big eater but the sight of scrambled eggs mixed with tomatoes and mushrooms on buttery charred toast was making him feel suddenly ravenous. 

'Sorry there's no bacon - didn't have a lot in and y'know... I wasn't exactly expecting company,' he was smiling as he sat back down in the arm chair but Castiel felt a need to apologize again. 'Quit with the sorries already!' Dean answered with exasperation. 'I've told you. It's fine.' Castiel nodded glumly and then returned to his food. It was ridiculously delicious for something so simple but somehow Dean managed to pack a lot more flavor into scrambled eggs than most people did.

'This is amazing!' Cas said round a mouthful of food. 'Good food makes me feel so happy!'

Dean laughed. 'It's only scrambled eggs on toast. If you want I can show you how to make it without burning down your kitchen.'

'Okay.' Cas said without hesitation.

'Okay?'

'Yes. And then maybe some other cooking lessons?'

'Okay... yeah, I'm up for that...' Cas squinted at him, apparently wondering for the first time if his offer had been serious. Dean made a split-second decision and decided it was. He not so subtly changed the subject. 'So, what exactly happened to you last night?' 

'Um,' Castiel had known this was coming and Dean had every right to an explanation but that didn't take away the feebleness of his answer. 'I don't exactly remember.'

Dean rolled his eyes.

'I mean... I remember having the bad day to end all bad days. I remember going to the bar and drinking shots of whiskey. Like a lot of whiskey. I remember figuring I was coming down with a cold or something...' and as though to demonstrate, he was wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve again. 'But after that... not a lot. Scratch that. Not anything. I don't even know how I got from the bar to-'

'To my front door.' Dean cut in with another grin. He left his half empty plate on the chair and left the room to get some Kleenex from a cupboard in the kitchen. Castiel took one gratefully, blowing his nose and groaning when his head gave a painful throb. 'Picture this,' Dean said, sitting back down still smirking. 'I come home from work at about, I dunno, eightish... and there's this dark haired dude passed out against my front door. You looked a mess, man. I didn't know what to do.' Dean explained how he'd tried to talk to him, how he'd tried to find a phone or some keys. Castiel checked his pocket at this point, disconcerted by his missing keys. Finally Dean explained how he'd given up, hoisting Cas over his shoulder and letting him snooze on his couch.

'I'm s-'

'Don't say it! I couldn't just  _leave_  you out there.'

'Well, thank you for that. I don't know many people who would take in a complete stranger. Let alone a very  _drunk_  and  _ill_ , stranger.'

'Yeah, well... you're not really a stranger, are you... we've met before...' Dean looked like he was on the verge of saying something else but caught himself just in time leaving Castiel wondering what he'd been thinking. Because, yes they had met before. Six times in total. And although on some of those occasions they'd barely talked, it somehow felt like a whole lot more...

'Do you...' Castiel hesitated; Dean would probably think he was crazy! 'Do you believe in fate, Dean?'

Dean starred at him, eyes wide. He thought Dean understood what he was  _really_  asking him. 'Fate? Um, I dunno... I hadn't really thought about it before... I know I believe in free will. I think we make our own choices, Cas.'

'Yes, I suppose so...' Cas looked away from Dean, down to his empty plate. He wasn't sure how he felt about that - perhaps a mixture of impressed and... disappointed?  

'So, um... not that I mind but - what happened that made you're day so bad you had to go out and do  _that_  to yourself?' Dean was clearly looking to change the subject and Castiel was only too happy to oblige. He launched into detail about the disaster of a day he'd had, from the late meeting, to the torn couch. He even found himself confessing to Dean about the writer's block he'd been up all night, struggling through. 'I don't know what to do,' Castiel admitted with a pleased sigh as Dean handed over a hot black coffee. 'I've always written.  It's what I do! When I've had bad days before, writing is what kept me going,' Castiel wasn't sure why he was telling Dean this. He'd never told anyone about it before. 'It's a kind of escapism, y'know...' Dean didn't know, not really. For years he'd turned to alcohol to deal with his issues. That was before he got clean, attending AA meetings and training up to be a fire fighter... It was what he'd always wanted... 'My publisher just keeps saying how my readers are waiting on a second novel and how they won't wait forever... anyway, I'm no good at anything else...'

Dean did recognize that feeling. That kind of self-loathing that had you ripping into yourself. That belief that you could only ever be good for one thing... 

'That's not true, Cas.' Castiel looked up, prepared to contradict him but was stopped short by the fiery intensity of Dean's gaze. He'd never seen anyone look more sure of anything. 'You might think like that sometimes but it's not true. 'And I know I barely know you from Adam but...'  _but I do know you..._  he couldn't finish the sentence but he couldn't stop the insane thought forming in his head. 

Castiel nodded with a weak smile. 'Thank you, Dean. I appreciate it.  _Really_.' And he couldn't say why but he felt a lot better all of a sudden.

'And as for your readers... they're not going anywhere. The way I see it, when you read a good book, you're happy to wait for more... doesn't matter how long... I'm guessing most of your readers would rather keep waiting for your next book than have you churn out some halfhearted crap by tomorrow.' 

Castiel smiled at Dean suddenly feeling very relaxed. 'That's what I think too but no one's ever agreed with me before.'

'What can I say? Great minds, right!' he gave a self deprecating chortle and Cas smiled back at him. The warmth in his expression filling Dean from his head to his toes and leaving a delicate but noticeable blush across his cheeks. 'I read your book,' he added enthusiastically. 'It's awesome. You're - you're pretty cool, Cas, ' he blurted out, feeling the blush deepen. He looked away, feeling embarrassed.  _Smooth, Winchester. Real smooth..._

Cas starred at Dean, feeling his own face begin to heat up. 

'What does it stand for anyway?'

'What's that?'

'C.A. Lord? Well, obviously the  _C_  is for  _Castiel_  but what about the  _A_?'

'Oh,' said Castiel with a touch of embarrassment. 'It's Angel.'

' _Angel?'_

'Yup.'

'Your name is _Castiel Angel Lord_?'

'Yes it is.'

'Wow. I dunno what to say...'

'Please don't say anything... my mother was a touch on the religious side. My surname - from my father - an unhappy coincidence... but it garnered me an interest in the subject anyway... But, you know, Dean,' Cas said, desperately trying to change the subject and get back on track to where things had seemed to be going before. He almost hesitated but then something seemed to urge him onwards, giving him a sudden thrill of courage. 'I think you're pretty cool too.'

'Yeah?' Dean asked doubtfully.

'Yeah. I- I kind of really like you...' he trailed off, hoping his meaning was clear.

'Yeah?' Dean inched a little closer. 'So maybe now we can just stop skirting around whatever the hell this is?'

'What?' Cas asked,finding himself thrown for words. Dean was really close now - he could have counted every freckle on his face if he'd been able to concentrate.

'It's just, for fear of sounding like a friggin' teenager but only 'cause I'm not great with words, so um... I'm just gonna plagiarize yours - I really like you too...'

'Oh, it's just I wasn't sure and I didn't exactly just want to attack you or anything and then have a really awkward situation on our hands and I didn't want to screw this up so-'

'Cas-'

'-and I think this could really work 'cause it seems like something has been driving us together all this time and-'

'CAS!'

'Yes?'

'Just shut up a minute.'

'Okay but I just need to say that-' but Cas didn't have a chance to finish because at that moment Dean lost patience with him; cupping a stubbly jaw beneath firm fingers and reaching forward to capture his mouth with his own. And he'd been right when he'd thought before that Cas was like his missing puzzle piece because they joined together perfectly, their mouths slotting over one another, lips locking into place and tongues sliding together with a delicious kind of sublimity. It felt almost necessary, like another moment in their lives without this would be a violation of their existence and maybe it would have been... the kiss was passionate, whole and absolutely sincere. But above all, it felt pure.

'Cas!' said Dean breaking away, much to the other man's irritation - things had been getting pretty intense.

'Yes, Dean?'

'Will you sign my book?'

Cas laughed, his eyes sparkling. 'Yes, Dean,' he said before letting his mouth find Dean's again.

 

 

 

Epilogue

_...Will Find A Way._

 

A few weeks passed in which Dean and Cas shared a few hasty dates, several steamy showers and many sleepy tangled embraces; wrapped beneath a shared duvet, rotating between each of their apartments. If they were at Cas's, Grace would join them too, curling up on top of them, usually purring, occasionally giving one of her signature kitty massages - Cas said that was just her way of getting comfortable but whatever,it felt pretty much like a massage to Dean. Cas wouldn't move once she was asleep, often falling asleep himself in ridiculously uncomfortable positions so as to accommodate her (which Dean did  _not_  find adorable).

Dean otherwise carried on with his usual well established routine at the fire station - twenty-four hours on, twenty-four hours off. And though he was tired at the end of each shift, it was a whole different ball game when he knew he had Cas to come home to. He might not have noticed a difference in himself but his fellow fire fighters certainly had. Benny noted the smile that was almost constantly gracing Dean's face. Chuck picked up on the random day dreams he would fall into, the floaty far-off look (but only when there was no emergency to deal with, of course). Charlie had been subjected to a seemingly infinity of conversations about Cas... 

Cas, to his own astonishment and utter delight had found himself writing again. Strangely, it hadn't been long after his brief stint on Dean's couch that he'd found the writer's block falling away; like a brick wall, broken... the pieces crumbled and scattered by some passing bulldozer. All of a sudden letters were pouring out of his pen again, the words seeming to fall fully formed from his lips in an unbroken string of story. A month in and Cas was well on his way to completing his first draft and he had rarely (if ever) been so pleased with his own progress. Occasionally his pen would falter over the page but it was only because Cas's mind had momentarily drifted - some sweet new memory captivating his senses for a while... 

It was peculiar to think that a few chance encounters had led them to this.

That if Cas hadn't caught the subway home that night. If Dean hadn't been caring for Sam's dog and taken a random trip to a coffee shop he'd never before set foot in... If Dean hadn't gone to some random book signing... If Dean hadn't been a firefighter with a money hungry land lord and if Cas wasn't so bad at cooking... If Cas hadn't had a really bad day and if Dean hadn't lived on the first floor of the same apartment complex... 

One evening, a couple of months into their new relationship, they were lying wrapped up in one another; cocooned in memory foam and soft downy quilt... and Cas decided he would try to put that feeling into words:

'Strange, isn't it?

'What's that?'

'If it wasn't for a bunch of random coincidences, we wouldn't be here today.'

'Nothing is random. And I don't believe in coincidences.' Dean said, burying his face into Cas's neck, pressing soft kisses along his throat and over his bobbing Adam's apple.

'Fair enough... I guess it was meant to be then...?' Dean smiled up at Cas.

'Of course it was!' Cas felt his breath catch at Dean's words.

'You're a barrel of contradictions, Dean Winchester! I thought you believed in _free will_?' Cas teased and Dean smiled back at him easily.

' _Yeah_ , I  _do_... but  _maybe..._ maybe there's a place for a little bit of fate too... don't you think?'

'Yes, maybe there is... and I guess... if something is really meant to be, free will or no... then it will find a way...'

'Yeah, I guess it will... fate will always find a way, Cas...'

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading :) I hope it made you smile. 
> 
> Please leave a comment - I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> Jems xxx
> 
> (P.S. You can find me on Tumblr at: onceuponadestiel. Come and have a look and drop me a message! Jems X)


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